Now I must tell you about Reuben Smith, who was left in charge of the stables while York was in London. Nobody understood horses better, and everybody liked him; the horses certainly did. But he had one great fault: he loved drink. For weeks or months he would not touch a drop, and then he would suddenly start drinking again and be a disgrace to himself and a terror to his wife.
Once he had lost his job for it, but York asked the Earl to take him back, and Reuben promised he would never touch another drop while he lived there. He kept his promise so well that York trusted him completely.
In April Reuben drove Colonel Blantyre to the station. I pulled the small carriage, and Reuben took my saddle along so that he could ride me home. “Take care of your young mistress, Reuben,” said the colonel, “and don’t let anybody ride Black Auster hard. Keep him for the lady.”
Reuben left the carriage to be repaired and took me to the White Lion, where he asked the stableman to have me ready at four o’clock. A nail in one of my front shoes had come loose on the way. Reuben did not come until five, and then he said he would not leave until six, because he had met some old friends. The stableman told him about the nail.
“That will be all right till we get home,” said Reuben.
He spoke in a loud, careless way, and I thought it very unlike him, because he was usually so careful about our shoes. He did not come at six, or seven, or eight. It was nearly nine o’clock when he called for me in a loud, rough voice. The landlord said, “Be careful, Mr Smith!” but he answered with a curse.
Almost before we were out of the town, he began to gallop, and he kept cutting me with his whip, though I was going at full speed. The moon was not up yet, and it was very dark. The road had just been mended and was full of stones. My shoe got looser and looser, and near the toll gate it came off. Reuben was too drunk to notice.
After the gate came a long stretch covered with new, sharp stones. Over these, with one shoe gone, I had to gallop as fast as I could, with Reuben whipping me and shouting at me to go faster. My hoof was split and my foot terribly cut. No horse could keep on his feet like that. I stumbled and fell hard on both my knees, and Reuben was thrown off.
I got up and limped to the side of the road, where there were no stones. The moon had just risen above the hedge, and I could see Reuben lying a few yards away. He tried once to get up, and then he groaned. I could have groaned too, because my foot and knees hurt terribly, but horses are used to bearing pain in silence. I stood and listened. Reuben groaned once more. Then, though he lay in the full moonlight, I could see no movement.
I could do nothing for him or for myself, but oh, how I listened for a horse, or wheels, or footsteps! It was a calm, sweet April night. There was no sound but a few low notes of a nightingale, and nothing moved but the white clouds near the moon and a brown owl that flew over the hedge. It made me think of the summer nights long ago, when I lay beside my mother in Farmer Grey’s green meadow.